


The Reflection I see bears no Resemblance to me

by WantsUnicorns



Series: We're all Monsters here [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Cunnilingus, Desk Sex, Dom/sub Undertones, Dubious Consent, F/M, Felching, Magic, Mind Control, Multi, Oral Sex, PWP, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Restraints, Rough Sex, Threesome, Threesome - F/M/M, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-01
Updated: 2014-02-01
Packaged: 2018-01-10 19:21:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1163508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WantsUnicorns/pseuds/WantsUnicorns
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hermione is Scabior's case worker, trying to reintegrate the former Death Eater back into wizarding society. Or so she claims.</p><p>OR</p><p>The one where Hermione makes sure Scabior is her last appointment of the day for a very specific reason.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Reflection I see bears no Resemblance to me

**Author's Note:**

> This can be read as a stand-alone but is set a couple of years after "All My Sins".
> 
> Haven't written anything in ages and then this happened. And really, this is just pure filth.
> 
> Thanks to K, M and E for the readthrough and beta. Any remaining mistakes are my own.
> 
> Spoilery notes regarding the dub-con at the end.

Her eyes rest on the coat where it hangs on the back of her office door. It’s her way of avoiding looking at the clock. Every time her gaze flickers over, the second hand seems to creep by, mocking her, its minutes stretching into hours. She’s waiting for her last appointment of the day. She always makes sure that he gets the last vacancy in her schedule, just before closing time, every Friday evening.

Excitement rushes through her like electricity, making her skin hum and her fingers shake with anticipation. She hasn’t written a word in more than an hour and his case file has been open in front of her even longer. At first, she had always tried to tell herself that she’d taken his case to help him, because she felt guilty about what she had done that day in the forest. She doesn’t kid herself anymore. She craves the wrongness, the secrecy, the danger of it all.

The round sphere on the table in front of her begins to pulsate with a gentle yellow glow. Hermione touches her thumb to it. It’s time.

“Miss Granger, your five-o’clock is here,” her assistant informs her.

“Thank you, Matilda; show him in please.”

Hermione takes a moment to compose herself, taking a deep breath. She can hear fast footsteps approaching her door, followed by a set of slower ones she’d almost describe as a stroll. There’s a knock on her door and she’s faced with her assistant, already in her coat and scarf, who’s showing _him_ in.

“Will that be all, Miss Granger?” Matilda asks.

“Yes, thank you. I’ll take it from here.”

“Have a lovely weekend, Miss Granger.”

“You too. I’ll see you on Monday.”

Matilda quietly closes the door on her way out.

Hermione gestures for her visitor to take a seat. He slouches down into the chair in front of her desk, grinning smugly and spreading his legs obscenely.

“Hello sweetheart.”

And so the game begins.

“Scabior.” Hermione gives him a stern look. “We’ve talked about this; you address me as Miss Granger and nothing else. Or do you really want to give me reason to make your life more difficult?”

Scabior sits up straighter in the chair, but the grin stays where it is.

“If you say so.”

She takes a deep breath and opens the folder in front of her, straightening its contents before looking up again. Hermione knows her gaze is indifferent, she’s practised it on her other cases often enough. She also knows that he doesn’t like it.

“Any problems at work?” she asks, her voice void of emotion as she reaches for her quill.

“No.”

Hermione makes a note of that. She can already feel the palms of her hands beginning to sweat under his heated glare. He hates this part, which is probably why she likes to stretch it out.

“Are you still satisfied with your placement?”

“What do you mean by satisfied?”

“Now, don’t play dumb; I want to know whether your placement suits your needs.”

“And what if it don’t, darling? Is there anything you’ll do about it? It’s not like you’re volunteering to satisfy my needs, is it?” he snarls. Tiny droplets of spittle fly from his lips, sparkling in the brightness of the overhead light.

“Calm down or there’ll be consequences,” she says, her voice cold and hard.

“Do you think I care?” He jumps up and slams his open hands on the desk in front of her, making the inter-sphere jump and roll off the table. “Do you think this is some kind of game? Do you get off on the menial tasks you have me do every fucking day of the week? And you still expect me to be grateful? Well, fuck you!”

“Scabior!” Hermione stands up and draws her wand, pointing it at his chest. How strange is it, that the answer to his questions respectively are: No, yes and so do you, yes and so do you, and no? 

Her voice could cut glass when she continues, “Sit down, right now. Some people might say that after your actions during the war, you don’t deserve a chance at redemption, that you’re too far gone for resocialisation. You know what? I don’t care. Your case is mine to handle as I see fit and I will not be disobeyed. Do you understand?”

He doesn’t reply, just glares at her as his hands squeeze the corner of her desk hard enough for his knuckles to whiten. He doesn’t sit down either. Another spark of excitement rushes through her and she hopes that her cheeks don’t blush with it, destroying the illusion. She knows exactly where this is headed.

She leans forward abruptly, poking her wand into his chest. Scabior snarls as the wand sears into his flesh. He sits down. Hermione repeats her question and this time he replies through clenched teeth.

“Yes, I understand, Miss Granger.”

She can almost taste his frustration in the air, as her spell binds him to the chair. Hermione twists her wand once and he gasps in pain, his face an angry scowl at having made a sound at all.

“It seems like you still haven’t learned your lesson,” Hermione says, sounding bored, but still keeping eye contact, gauging his reaction. She knows that if she turns her back for only a second, the spell will slip away. He’ll be out of his chair and at her throat.

“Now, to make sure you do know how to behave next time, I’ll have them dock your pay again. I’m sure the Fred Weasley Foundation for War Orphans will appreciate your generous donation. Since weekly meetings apparently haven’t been helping in your rehabilitation, I’ll recommend bi-weekly appointments with your case-worker.” She smiles. “Me.”

“I believe that’s it for today,” she says, slowly turning around, pretending to reach for her bag. “You may go.”

The spell breaks and Scabior is out of his chair and behind her desk so fast that were it not for the wards in the ministry, any observer would surely have assumed he had Apparated. His hands are on her throat, pushing her back onto her desk, his face only inches from her own.

“You bitch!”

Scabior’s words hit her face in a rush of breath and Hermione can already taste him on her tongue. She gasps, desperately trying to pull in air past his tight fingers. She knows that nobody will hear, that nobody will come to save her. She’s made sure of it. Her heart is racing inside her chest. This is it. It’s hard to suppress the grin that wants to burst forth.

She can feel his entire body pressing into her front, holding her down with his weight. Every single hot breath brushing against her skin, her lips, causing her to shiver with want. She tries to keep up the charade for a moment longer, but she knows him to well. His fingers, while still wrapped around her throat have stopped just shy of strangling her. She knows that he can’t kill her. It would be the Dementor’s kiss for him if he did, and he’s gone through too much already to try and avoid that fate.

The weight of the wand in her hand is reassuring, not that she needs it. She knows exactly what comes next, because she can already feel the rigid length of his cock pressing into her thighs, where he has her pinned down, seemingly unaware that she isn’t as helpless as she is letting on.

His left hand rests on her throat, fixing her neck to the desk. Scabior leans closer, breathing into her neck. Hermione is staring up at the ceiling, shivering in anticipation. Scabior probably thinks it’s with fear. This time she allows the smile to form, just for a moment. No matter what he believes, she knows she’s the one in control.

Her skin feels like it’s on fire where he’s touching her. All her other senses are amplified, vying for her attention. Hermione can feel the broken quill where it digs into her lower back, can feel the rough fabric of his trousers where it rubs against her exposed thighs. Scabior hasn’t seen it yet, but she knows it’s only moments until he’ll notice.

“Still wearing that perfume, little girl?” he whispers into her ear and Hermione has to repress a moan. That’s not the game they are playing. “Like that day in the woods, still waiting for my cock, to fuck you good and proper, until you can’t walk straight anymore?”

He licks along the tendons of her neck and this time she can’t suppress the shiver that’s half arousal half disgust. Scabior holds her down again, his other hand brushing up her thigh, pushing her skirt up and away. She’s staring up at his face, her hand tightening around her wand, waiting for the penny to drop.

As his hand finds her cunt, wet and exposed, just waiting for him, she can see his expression change from determined to startled.

“What…?” he asks, looking down at his hand, his fingers wet from where he touched her. The grip of his left hand slackens in surprise.

That’s when she strikes. Hermione pushes him backward, already familiar with all of his defensive moves. He slumps into her desk chair and within seconds she has her wand pressed to his throat. She loves how she can see his thready pulse along the smooth line of his neck as his heart pumps his life force through his veins. One of these days she wants to taste it, feel the coppery taste explode on her tongue, but not today. Today she has other plans.

Their eyes meet over the span of her arm, her gaze hard and unforgiving and his angry. Both their chests are rising fast, their heavy breathing the only sound in the otherwise quiet room. It’s the calm before the storm and they both know it.

“Lower your hands to the arms of the chair,” she orders, simply because she knows it will piss him off further.

“Frigid bitch!” he curses, but obeys anyway.

Hermione loves the fire of hatred she can see in his eyes. Hatred for everything she stands for, but most of all, because she’s beaten him again. Just one _little girl_ , but now she’s got the upper hand. By now she knows exactly how to read his body language. Scabior is torn between want and rage, still poised to attack. She lets her gaze sweep over him, starting with his face and ending at the obvious bulge of his engorged cock. She tuts.

“Manners, Scabior, I’m sure you’ve heard of them.”

“Fuck you!”

“Enough.” 

Hermione makes to stand, but at that very moment Scabior tries to overpower her again. Having expected this stunt, she pushes him down to the floor, her chair now vacant. Scabior is on his hands and knees in front of her and she knows that if he could, that if her wand wasn’t still pressed into his jugular, like a brand, he would try again. He’s never done well with accepting defeat. That’s why she likes him. Breaking someone fragile is no fun.

“Whatever am I going to do with you?” she asks.

She lowers herself into her chair, her wand arm never wavering. The soft leather feels as amazing as it did on the first day. She runs her left hand up and down the arm, pretending to think about the question.

Hermione lets her index finger run across her lips and is filled with secret glee when she catches Scabior tracking the movement. He hastily looks away, his entire frame tense with impotent rage at her and at himself. She always knows which buttons to push to get a reaction out of him.

“Get on your knees,” she finally orders, knowing that it’s too much. Knowing he’ll never obey her in this, at least not yet. Just as expected, he lunges for her, making another go for her throat. Hermione is faster.

“Imperio,” she pronounces loud and clear. Immediately she can see his eyes cloud over. He’s still half draped across her lap, which is how far he got in his earlier forward surge. She repeats her request and this time he sits back on his haunches gazing up at her expectantly.

She likes to see him kneeling, likes to think that she can still see him fighting for control under his forcibly calm exterior. It makes her smile. 

Hermione slowly spreads her legs, placing one on each side of his shoulders. She uses her wand to push her skirt up, exposing her thighs and shuddering at the feeling of the cold wood against her skin. She doesn’t really need her wand anymore at this point, so she places it carefully on her desk. Both her hands are needed for what she wants to do next. Lifting her left leg across the arm of the chair and rucking her skirt up exposes her cunt to his glazed over gaze. She can feel her inner walls pulsing and clenching in need.

“Merlin,” she breathes, before reaching one hand down to run along her labia and through the wetness she finds everywhere. She’s so close already, but she doesn’t want it to end too soon.

“Come here,” she orders and Scabior leans in. “Clean my fingers.”

His tongue feels amazing as it twists around and between her forefinger and middle finger, lapping up her juices like a faithful dog. Hermione uses the fingers of her other hand to rub her clit in small circling motions. Her hips jerk with every pass over the small nerve bundle and she can’t quite keep in her soft moans.

This is why she waits until Friday and why Scabior is always her last appointment of the day, because this way, nobody can hear them or interrupt them. Hermione pulls her fingers from his mouth and slowly pushes them into her cunt, her breath coming in short gasps as Scabior leans in to follow them with his mouth. He’s licking around her fingers and where her cunt stretches around them. Her wetness glistens where the light from the ceiling is reflected on his chin.

Her eyes want to fall shut of their own accord, but it’s too soon. She’s not ready for it to be over. There’s more she planned to do. She shakes herself out of the stupor of lust she’s fallen into and reaches for him, pulling him away by his hair.

“Stop.”

She adjusts her position in the chair, moving her hips closer to the edge. Hermione takes his hands and places them on her hips, where they begin to rhythmically knead the fabric of her skirt. She places a single finger under his chin and lifts his face up to hers, before giving another order.

“Eat me out.”

As he does, her hand falls onto the back of his head, sliding through his hair and gripping tight, to hold him just there. Her hips involuntarily push up into his mouth as he suckles and licks at her clit and cunt. Hermione is really glad she can’t see his face now, just feel his talented tongue as it gives her pleasure. The way he fucks her after makes her more suspicious every time. But if she can’t see his eyes, she can pretend there’s still the glazed look on his features that she put there with her spell.

“Fuck, you’re so good at this!” she moans.

Leaning back in her chair, she’s holding him steady as she pushes her sopping wet cunt harder against his mouth, her back arches and her left arm comes up, sheltering her eyes from the bright light. She’s so fucking close, if only… and there are his fingers, only one hand still holding onto her hips, the other pressing two fingers into cunt.

Hermione can feel her orgasm approaching. She whimpers and moans ever louder, desperately trying to suppress the scream that wants to burst forth. She bites her lips hard, tasting blood after only a moment.

“My, my. What have we here?”

Uncovering her face blinds her for a moment, all she can see is a vague outline standing in front of her closed door. The figure is approaching slowly, nonchalantly, walking around her desk to where Scabior is still desperately trying to make her come. Not even the shock of being discovered can stop her orgasm now, it punches through her like lightning, setting her nerve endings on fire.

She gasps and screams as the new arrival slowly comes into focus in front of her. Embarrassment flushes her, even though her insides and stomach muscles are still clenching desperately while she rides out her orgasm on Scabior’s clever fingers.

“If it isn’t the prim and proper Miss Granger,” Lucius Malfoy says lightly.

“Mr. Malfoy,” she stutters, her cheeks hot with humiliation. “What are you doing here?”

Hermione tries to push Scabior away and rearrange her skirt into something more akin to decent. Scabior resists her though, while he stops trying to make her come again, he presses his cheek into her still exposed thigh and inhales her scent in loud heaving gasps of breath. She wasn’t so far off comparing him to a dog earlier, her mind points out slightly hysterically.

She should have locked the door, she realises, but nobody had ever come in before today. The entire building was supposed to be empty. Lucius Malfoy pointedly glances at her lap before raising a single eyebrow. But still replies, making the situation only more absurd. 

“I was told that my and my son’s case files had been forwarded to your office, Miss Granger and to report to you at my earliest convenience. So I came here, thinking I might still catch you before you leave for home.” His expression is amused as he finishes, finding how he caught her obviously very entertaining.

“I…”

Her mind is drawing a blank. There is no way to explain the situation away. She only hopes that he doesn’t know she cast an unforgivable curse earlier. When she starts shaking this time, it’s in genuine fear.

Scabior starts licking her again, causing Lucius’ smirk to widen when her hips jerk forward instinctively. This can’t be happening.

“But I see that you are busy. I don’t want to keep you from your work.” The sarcasm is evident in his voice.

“Mr. Malfoy, please,” she pleads, but he turns away, heading for the door. She has to do something. He can’t leave, not like this. Knowing what he knows is blackmail material for the rest of her life, even without the Unforgivable. She can’t afford to let him leave without Obliviating him first.

When it becomes obvious that she won’t persuade him through words, she lunges for her wand, but this time she’s too slow. Lucius is behind her pushing her face first into her desk, squeezing her fingers so hard she has to let go of her wand or let him break them. She lets go. He’s plastered all along her back. Her skirt has somehow become rucked up around her hips during their brief struggle and now she can feel the expensive material of his robes press against her bare thighs and exposed bottom.

Lucius grabs his own wand and suddenly she can feel her hands restrained by invisible bonds that seem to be attached to her desk. She tries to break free, but to no avail; the tables have truly been turned on her this time. Hermione is wandless and dependent on the mercy of a sadistic bastard.

His large hands rub against her backside several times before letting one of his fingers trail along her cunt, rubbing her juices along the cleft of her arse, over her arsehole and into the small of her back. She tries to flinch away from his touches, but can’t get away far enough, because his thighs are pressing against her from behind with such force that she’s sure she’ll have bruises from where the edge of the table is digging into the front of her legs. She’s trapped.

“Please…” she begs, failing to utter another word as Scabior suddenly presses his mouth against her clit again. He’s still hunched beneath her, between her legs, which begin to shake in earnest. The only thing keeping her upright now are her bonds and the unrelenting pressure of Lucius’ legs against her backside.

“Were you saying something, Miss Granger?” Lucius asks while thrusting a single finger into her cunt.

Hermione can feel tears of humiliation burning in the corners of her eyes. All she gets out in reply is a single drawn out moan, while her cunt greedily clenches around Lucius’ finger. This was not how today was supposed to go. Lucius adds another finger and she can’t stop herself from thrusting back and forth between his fingers and Scabior’s tongue.

“I have to admit, this is not what I imagined, when your assistant told me about your dedication to your work,” Lucius muses, the movement of his fingers never ceasing.

She is going to kill Matilda. Then all thoughts of assistants and work are driven from her mind as Lucius removes his fingers. She can hear the rustling of fabric behind her, but is unable to raise her head far enough to see what is happening. She doesn’t have to be a genius to figure it out though.

Lucius leans over her, pressing his front against her back, his hot breath hitting her ear and neck in tantalising bursts. He tangles his hands in her hair, pushing her face into her paperwork while he rubs his erection along the cleft of her arse at the same time. Her body is burning up with want and shame, writhing under the sensations and completely beyond her control.

On his next upward thrust, Hermione can’t hold back the moan that catches in her throat any longer. If this is going to happen, she might as well relinquish all control, might let him do with her as he pleases, it isn’t as if she has any choice in the matter.

With the loss of control comes an as of yet undiscovered sensation of lightness and for the first time Hermione feels truly free.

“Please…” she begs again.

“Please what?”

“I need… I need you.”

“What do you need me to do, Miss Granger,” Lucius asks, thrusting against her arse again, the slide of his cock made easier by what can only be a copious amount of precome. Good to know that she’s not the only one getting seriously off on this.

“In the spirit of cooperation; I’m sure you’ll make a note of that in your report,” he whispers into her ear. “But you have to tell me what you want me to do.”

“Please fuck me.” Hermione can barely get the words past the lump in her throat.  
Lucius' weight lifts off her back for a short moment before she can feel the head of his cock push inside. It only takes him one long hard thrust until he’s fully sheathed inside her.

The pace he sets is ruthless and hard, fucking all sorts of embarrassing noises out of her, while Scabior is still sucking on her clit. The sensation becomes too much when Lucius reaches around her and tears open her blouse, grabbing her breasts and rubbing her pert nipples between his fingers. She writhes and screams as she comes again and again.

After a while she goes limp, Lucius' thrusts the only thing keeping her upright. Scabior seems to still be going, but she can hardly feel it. Overstimulated, she feels like she’s floating away, free of care and worry, letting an old enemy take his pleasure in her body. She can still hear the broken little whimpers he still fucks out of her, but they are something detached that could come from anywhere. They don’t belong to her, they belong to him, like she does now.

A couple of hard thrusts later, Lucius freezes above her, filling her up with spurt after spurt of his hot come, marking her inside and out as his and somehow she doesn’t mind. Hermione actually relishes this possession, because finally she knows where she belongs, in the dark with Lucius and people like him.

Lucius eventually pulls out and Hermione can feel herself returning to her body, his come slowly dribbling out of her, down her sweat-slick thighs, most of it getting licked up by a desperate Scabior.

It only takes a moment for Lucius to re-arrange his clothes. He walks around the desk, leans down to her and kisses her slack lips, plundering her mouth and Hermione lets him. Before long, he straightens and turns towards the door.

“Miss Granger, as always, a pleasure. Thank you so much for your help. I’ll be sure to mention your remarkable dedication to your work to your superiors.”

Before he leaves, Lucius flicks his wand just once and the invisible bonds holding her down vanish. Without them to hold her up she slides to the floor, Scabior landing on her lap. From where she is, Hermione can only make out part of the room behind her desk. It’s enough though to see Lucius Malfoy saunter over to the door, leaving it wide open on his way out.

Hermione realises that she is really and truly fucked. Quite literally.

She turns to Scabior, sees his bright and clear eyes looking back at her, confirming her theory. He grins, leaning forward, kissing her and pushing the flavour of Lucius' come into her mouth with his tongue. Hermione leans backwards trying to get away, but this time Scabior has the upper hand. He pushes and pulls, until he can rut between her legs, rubbing off his own orgasm against her thigh. She guesses she deserves it, when she feels his hot come hit her cunt and thighs and her exposed stomach and breasts.

It takes her a moment to realise what’s poking into her elbow, but it doesn’t take her long to grab for it. She has Scabior on his back, her wand pressed against his throat again within seconds. The balance has been restored.

He laughs harshly, his chin still covered in her juices, his hands still tangled in her skirts, holding them up to expose the bruises Lucius’ fingers had left on her thighs and hips.

“I know what you are, little girl,” he says.

“You’re a monster,” she replies, before Obliviating him. Then again, looking at the evidence, so is she. 

While he might be the wolf, she’s the little girl, lost in the woods, only she likes it that way.

**Author's Note:**

> My canon for this fic essentially amounts to the fact that because Hermione isn't twisted enough her Unforgivables don't last very long and aren't very strong in the first place. Scabior himself is twisted enough to fuck her and give her what he wants anyway. Since she obliviates him after every single time, she's the only one who knows.
> 
> As for the Lucius situation, Hermione gets off on it as much as he does. While it terrifies her to be without control, she still enjoys it.


End file.
